Things got so bad she would only let me out the house of an evening on a Monday and Friday (yes really). This changed after a while to a Tuesday and a Thursday because she didn't realise everyone else went out on a Friday to unwind etc . . .
My cat (who I had before we met) was forced to live outside, even in winter.
I was the only earner (well paid), yet was given pocket money and no access to the bank account.
The final straw was being woken at 6:30am on a Sunday morning, having worked 7 day weeks for at least 2 months. I'll never forget the psychotic look in her eyes and I'll never forget the bucket of icy cold water hurled (with bucket) in my direction. My crime? I had put the frying pan in the top basket of the dishwasher instead of the bottom.
The divorce was 12 years ago and whilst I'm over it, the mental scars never fully dissapear.
Last I heard, she'd met a bloke called Keith. Apologies to any Keiths out there.